Ralph's Allergy
by NumberlessFics
Summary: Even a genius can't predict the future, as hard as Walter wishes he could. When Ralph falls ill to an unexpected allergy, time runs against them as the beloved cyclone fights to save his young life.


**Ralph's Allergy**

**A/N: Just the first chapter to a three chapter piece. I adore Ralph and Walter's relationship, and so have tried to explore their bond here. Please enjoy :)**

To an outsider, the scene that lay before him may have been considered funny, although to him it was normality; disorganised, hectic planning. In an attempt to surprise Paige for her birthday, the garage was undergoing an incredible transformation, with no member of the cyclone undedicated or putting in less than 100% effort. The desired result was a beautiful dinner to be shared with everyone in celebration. As such, with the enormous effort before them, every member was designated their own job.

Happy, the mask of concentration set firmly upon her face, was working to light the somewhat gloomy room with coloured lights that alternated repeatedly. Every few minutes, a red trail of light would spell out Paige's name in Morse code, followed by a happy birthday wish. The engineer knew that Paige was unlikely to understand the message, but was nonetheless confident that with a quick explanation her efforts would be appreciated. With this in mind, she worked tirelessly with her tools, using them as extensions of her arms.

Toby was given the duty of cooking, with strict instructions to avoid any sort of flame. Happy didn't hold much faith, but she didn't know that the behaviourist used to cook for his disgruntled family in his youth. It was almost instinct now, although he rarely displayed the skill in the garage. Yet for such an important occasion, he was prepared to disprove expectations. Mulling over the things that he and the team would do for Paige, he quickly diced onions with his practiced hand. He was cooking an onion soup for starters, a rich carbonara for mains, and a light cheese cake for dessert. It was a menu to make his mouth water, and it was all Toby could do to not eat the food before the appropriate time. Walter would be unimpressed if he turned up to empty plates.

Sylvester took on the task of place setting. Considering his OCD tendencies, the night would be ruined for him if the table wasn't set properly, so he offered to organise it perfectly. He planned a table that was elegant, yet still inviting to all. The main colour theme was a burnt orange, complimented by a silver that was tinted with blue. He was rather proud of his selections, confident that they would be well received. Sylvester especially loved the glasses he had found; each cup had a rubix cube base that was able to be solved. It was a personal touch that practically screamed Sylvester.

Ralph watched all of this in fascination. The irony of the whirlwind movements of his cyclone was not lost on him, and he couldn't remember ever feeling so proud. Perhaps it was strange for a ten year-old boy to feel proud of adults, but he saw these people struggle everyday and now they were focussed on something very important for his Mom. Glancing down at the table, he decided that his gift was truly finished now. The clock on the table held a picture of himself or someone from the team at each number, and a little chime would sound at each hour. He had made the gift himself with a little help from Happy, and was excited to present it to his Mom. Yet that was still a little while off, and so he looked around for something he could do to help.

He was still wondering what to do when Walter walked through the door. He was carrying a couple of bags and seemed a little stressed. Ralph supposed this was normal, considering what was going on.

"Hi Walter." The little boy mumbled his greeting. Walter looked over to him with a small smile, and began to change his course over to Ralph's direction.

"Hey Ralph. Your clock came up well," he said, gesturing to the gift on the table. "I see you fixed the nanosecond delay on the minute hand. It should work perfectly now." There was a hint of pride in the elder's voice, to which Ralph grinned. "Listen, do you think you can help me blow up these balloons? At the rate which I could inflate them all, it should take me about 40 minutes, but I have to go and get your Mom in half an hour. Think you could help?"

The young boy paused before answering. Although he was eager to help, there was a slight problem. Considering his difficulty making friends, Ralph had never had a birthday party where he was old enough to blow up balloons. He didn't want to mess up something as important as the balloons, even though he understood the physics, because it was for his Mom. Walter seemed to understand his hesitation.

"Hey," he said softly, bending down. "What are you worried about?" Ralph's glance to the packets of balloons seemed to give an answer. "Don't worry, you can't make mistakes blowing balloons. It's one of the few things that knowledge can't help you with. I'll show you."

And so the two sat down privately, away from the curious eyes of Happy, Toby and Sylvester. Ralph watched carefully as Walter picked balloons, stretched them and blew into them gently. He also memorised exactly how to tie the end until he felt he could do it in his sleep. After eight balloons, Walter passed one to Ralph with an indicative nod of the head.

Taking a large breath, the young genius slowly raised the balloon to his mouth and blew…he blew until he felt his lungs tighten, and then he blew just a little more, until he held the perfect green balloon in his hands. He saw the little smile on Walter's face again as he successfully tied his balloon and placed it in the pile.

"Thanks Walter."

"No problem Ralph."

Walter was dragged from his task suddenly when Toby came over, asking Walter's opinion on the salad dressings. For the behaviourist, Walter making a choice on such trivial flavours must have signalled something important, for he was extremely insistent. Unfortunately, Walter was indecisive, and so a conversation on positives and negatives of salad dressing ensued.

Ralph watched them vaguely as he continued to blow up his balloons. But it was getting harder now, with each of his breaths a little more difficult to draw and the undertone of pain present. Ralph was a little disappointed in himself; after all, he'd only done six balloons. It was hardly a feat to be proud of, especially considering how easily Walter had done it. Yet he couldn't deny his need to stop. His throat was protesting angrily.

Looking up, Ralph noticed that Walter was getting frustrated. Itching his throat, he absentmindedly glanced over to Happy. She still seemed busy, as did Sylvester. He wished he could help more, considering how poor he was at balloons. He still held several in his hands, which were even turning pink from the effort. Ralph was frustrated and annoyed at his inability to help with even the simplest of tasks for his Mom. So like any young boy, genius or not, he harnessed his stubborn nature and kept on going.

But he only made it another two balloons before admitting defeat. Breathing was extremely hard; his throat felt tight, his lips were growing in size and his hands were losing movement. It was at this point when Ralph realised that something other than weakness was at stake.

He looked towards Walter who was only a few meters away, comparing bottles with Toby.

"Walter?" He asked, starting to lay himself down against the cool ground to combat his sudden heat. His face felt extremely hot and his palms were sweating. "Walter…"

His eyes closed in defeat as his body betrayed him, and he fell limp on the concrete.


End file.
